


Undeclared

by scheherezhad



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Kenneth fic, M/M, Schism D&D campaign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherezhad/pseuds/scheherezhad
Summary: Memir doesn't do strings.
Relationships: Memir Vrago/Bele
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Undeclared

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. I ship this idiot with this other idiot, which means there must be a school au. I have no idea what courses they're studying.

"You know," Memir says, offhand, after the third or fourth time he sees the two overly kind students basically doing other people's work for them, "if you really want to help people, maybe you should try tutoring instead. At least you'll get paid for it." 

Yevelda claps excitedly, perky demeanor at odds with her imposing Amazonian build. "oh my gosh, that's such a good idea!" 

"Huh. I never thought about making money for something we were already doing," Givo muses, and Memir wonders how the guy has survived long enough to start a degree in his forties, if something that simple never even occurred to him. 

When they drag him to sit with them in the next lecture, he curses his own moment of kindness. He doesn't want friends. 

*  
He has friends.

They all take the next level of the course the next semester, and he lets them talk him into having a group text, and sometimes he goes to their tutoring study groups. They introduce him to their other friend, Caroline. They eat meals together, and sometimes watch movies or go to student events together.

They mostly let him get away with fading into the background, and he might admit, privately, that it's nice sometimes to know that someone gives a shit that he exists. 

So he has friends. 

*  
He does not have any classes with his friends the next year.

They have to break off and focus on their own--very different--majors, so Memir has class with people he mostly doesn't talk to unless he has to, and _that_ guy. _That_ guy, Bele, is… a lot. He wears flashy clothes and speaks over people in discussions and generally draws attention to himself. Most of the other students make snide remarks about how annoying he is.

They get assigned to work together on a project, and Memir tries to keep things on track, but Bele constantly attempts to make personal conversation. He sits too close, pushes into Memir's space, flirts blatantly enough that even Memir and his terrible social skills can't miss it. He tones it down a little after Memir fails to respond. 

It's still awkward, but he's smart, knows the material. They actually work well together when they get down to it, and they score so well they set the curve for the class. Bele invites Memir to dinner to celebrate; Memir, against his better judgment, accepts. 

*  
Memir, also against his better judgment, lets Bele take him home and fuck him. 

It's the best sex Memir has ever had.

Bele cries when he comes.

Memir does not stay.

*  
He doesn't stay, but he thinks about it for the rest of the week.

He doesn't do relationships and commitments and strings, but he's had a few repeat casual partners and some hookups. Usually quick encounters in a bathroom or a back seat, a booty call to someone's house, both parties ready to get off and get out. None of them had looked nervous before they kissed him. None of them had had to hide a kicked puppy look when he got dressed to leave.

His friends call him out on being distracted. He doesn't want to talk about it, so he pushes it to the back of his mind and tries to go back to acting normal.

*  
There's an awkward sort of stalemate over the next few classes. 

Bele doesn't approach him, but Memir keeps catching him looking. Which means he knows that Memir is looking back. By the end of the next week, Bele seems to regroup. He corners Memir after their Friday lecture and asks him to dinner. Memir claims prior plans and tries not to see the flash of disappointment in Bele's eyes.

Memir doesn't do strings.

*  
Bele, apparently, doesn't give up.

He asks Memir to lunch, to coffee, to a party. Memir can't think of a good excuse to the last one, has already used up his usual stock answers, has used up all his emotional energy for the week, has never had to learn how to turn someone down like this. 

So he says, "yeah, maybe" and tries not to panic at the way Bele lights up. 

*  
Memir does not go to the party. 

He thinks about it, if for no other reason than to somehow put an end to this, but he can't summon the energy to do anything but the bare minimum to exist. Instead, he cancels lunch with his friends, calls in to work, and lies in bed.

He stays there all weekend.

*  
Bele does not come to class on Monday. 

Memir feels relieved and ashamed. He didn't want to deal with the fallout, and it looks like he won't have to yet. 

One of the other guys in class tells his friend, "I heard he got his ass beat Friday." 

Memir cancels lunch again. He feels sick. 

*  
Bele is in his usual seat when Memir walks in on Wednesday. 

He is wearing a sling. His platinum hair is in a loose, messy braid over his injured shoulder instead of in its usual sleek plait down his back. Behind glasses Memir didn't know he needed, one eye is bruised an ugly red-purple, and there's a dark line of scabbing on his split bottom lip. 

He does not look at Memir. 

*  
Memir's friends are disappointed. 

He doesn't tell them exactly what happened, only that someone got hurt because of him. Yevelda tells him to go apologize immediately, looking like she'll march him to it herself. Givo pins him with a look of betrayal, as if Memir has ever done anything to make them think he is better than that. Caroline simply reminds him that if (when) he apologizes, it's not about him, and someone he's hurt is not required to forgive him. 

*  
On Friday, Memir cannot focus on the lecture. 

His leg bounces nervously under his desk, and he gets dirty looks from others in the class for tapping his pen on his notebook. He doesn't pay attention to them. He has no idea what to say to Bele. But he has to say something. 

He catches Bele after class and gets out, "hey, are you--" before Bele stops ignoring him and shoots him a nasty glare. 

"You fucking stood me up, asshole." He fumbles the last of his things into his bag one-handed and slings the strap over his good shoulder. "I waited for you."

He shoves past and leaves before Memir can respond. 

*  
Memir lies on his living room floor all weekend. 

He forgets to study until late on Sunday, and by then he's so foggy he can't get his shit together. Cheek pressed to the dingy grey carpet, he thinks he can bullshit his way through his two classes tomorrow, and he's doing well enough in the Tuesday one he can mostly fail the test without failing the course.

When he falls asleep on the couch, he's no closer to knowing whether or not he should try apologizing again.

*  
The gods must be laughing at him.

When he gets to the classroom for Monday's lecture, there's a note taped to the door that it's been canceled last-minute. He sighs and turns to head to the library, to try to do the studying he ignored. When he turns the corner at the end of the hall, he nearly collides with someone coming the other way, and they apologize to each other before they realize who they're talking to. 

Bele's expression shifts rapidly. His brows pinch, and his mouth turns down. "Oh. You."

"Class. Was, uh, cancelled," Memir says stupidly, gesturing at the door. He watches Bele walk down to it to read the note, sees him sigh and walk back. Bele doesn't acknowledge Memir on his way by.

A split-second impulse flickers in Memir to reach out and stop Bele, but he reigns it in. He may be shit at social interactions, but he knows enough, at least, to know he doesn't have a right to touch now.

Instead, he opens his mouth and-- "Do you want to hit me?"

Bele stops, whips around. "Do I what?"

"I'm sorry. About what happened. I was a dick, and you got hurt. I know saying I'm sorry doesn't change anything, and you probably don't even want to hear it, so just. What would make you feel better?"

Bele stares hard at him for a long moment. "That's more words than I've ever heard you say to someone at once." 

Memir shrugs and shifts awkwardly. 

"Fine. Carry my shit for me while I decide how much I hate you." He thrusts the strap of his messenger bag into Memir's hands. 

They walk out to where Bele is parked, which is pretty far out for him to have to lug this heavy-ass bag while his shoulder is fucked up. But the lots on this side of campus are always over filled, so he's probably lucky to have gotten a space at all instead of having to take a shuttle. When they get to the little silver sedan, Bele has him put the bag behind the driver's seat, then they stand in silence for a minute, not really looking at each other. 

"So here's the thing," Bele finally says, fiddling with his keys. "I don't want to hit you. I mean, I thought about it at first, but it's not going to make anything better for me to hurt someone I like. And I really like you, you know? I guess it was pretty stupid to hope you might like me back a little. I wasn't even a good enough lay for you to stick around." He pauses to wipe away the tears that have started leaking from his eyes. "But then you kept _looking_ at me. So I thought maybe you were nervous, or--or shy? Maybe you were waiting on me to make a move. But I did, and you blew me off, until you didn't, and I got my hopes up like a fucking idiot, and you fucking _stood me up!_ "

Memir flinches as Bele lets his weight drop against the car and sinks down to the ground. He's crying in earnest now, hard enough he's almost gasping for breath for a minute.

"What the fuck," Bele says quietly when he calms down a bit. "Who the fuck does that?"

Memir slowly lowers himself to the asphalt. "Shitty people."

Bele drops his forehead to his knees, sniffling.

"I'm not a good person. And I'm lousy with people and feelings and shit."

"Understatement," Bele mutters, lifting his head just enough to side-eye Memir.

Memir instinctively drops his gaze before forcing himself to meet Bele's watery, bloodshot blue eyes again. "So, what I'm saying is, you probably shouldn't like me at all. We barely know each other. But, um, if you want to decide that for yourself, you could maybe hang out with me. And my friends. They, uh, they don't suck with people so much."

"You want to… try being friends first?" This doesn't seem to be what Bele was expecting.

Memir shrugs. "I mean, basically, I guess."

Some of the light comes back into Bele's eyes, and his expression softens. "Okay. Yeah, let's… let's be friends, then."

"Here," Memir says, unlocking his phone and passing it over. "If everybody's cool with it, I'll add you to our group chat or whatever."

Bele takes the phone with his good hand and carefully balances it on his knees as he adds his number to Memir's contacts and texts himself. He passes it back with a weak but genuine smile. "I look forward to it."

"I, uh. Should probably go," Memir says after a moment, standing. "I really need to study for this test tomorrow while I have the chance."

"Oh. Right, I should let you go." He looks pleased when Memir holds out a hand to help him up, and he takes it in his slightly clammy grasp. They are very close together when he stands, and a faint blush rises in his cheeks under the splotchiness from his crying jag. "Thanks."

"Yeah." Memir takes his hand back slowly. "I'll, um, see you later."

Bele nods. "Yeah, later," he echoes.

Memir takes a couple of steps backward before he turns and heads toward the library.

(He doesn't fail the test, but he still does worse than he should, too distracted by the tiny spark of warmth that has nested in his chest.)


End file.
